


5 AM

by SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Night Terrors, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: Bucky’s finally where he wants to be, lying on his back in the bed he shares with Steve–the absolute love of his life, and just recently, his legally wedded husband.The white sheets are dampened with sweat in some places, kicked off to rest in a rumpled pile on the hardwood floor with the rest of the clothes they’d shed during the night. Bucky swallows around the receding lump in his throat, chancing a look to the left where the bed is dipping under the warm weight of a very familiar body.Bucky desperately needs to see him. Needs to look upon the peaceful face of his lover and know that everything is going to be okay.And Steve is there, as he always is, lying next to Bucky on his left side with his head pillowed on one bulging bicep and an old, flat pillow he refuses to toss out for reasons only Steve knows or understands.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 29
Kudos: 170





	5 AM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiddiMidori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiddiMidori/gifts).



> This came out a bit more in the hurt department than I initially intended. Oops.

> _“Take my hand!” Bucky hears, but Steve’s voice is muffled by the roar of the train and the howl of the icy wind in his ears; the sound wrapping around his head like a suffocatingly thick cloth._
> 
> _The metal railing clutched in his right hand is trembling as he reaches out with his left, and bitter tears of resignation sting his eyes as a thousand thoughts rush through his mind. He’s terrified of what he knows lies at the bottom of that ravine, of how helpless and scared Steve looks as he leans his body out toward Bucky’s, desperately trying to close the chasm of open-air between them, but knowing in the back of his mind that his reach will be just a hair’s breadth too short._
> 
> _Bucky can feel the railing begin to snap away from the side of the train, and he knows what’s about to happen. He knows he’s going to die. Knows Steve won’t reach him in time to save him. But the only regret he has as the railing tears itself away from the train, is that he never told Steve how much he loves him. How every day he spends with Steve is a blessing, and that leaving Steve to go to war nearly killed him. Quite literally, as it turns out._
> 
> _But the time for such things, unfortunately, has passed._
> 
> _The railing abruptly gives way under Bucky’s weight, and his eyes frantically lock with Steve’s one final time as he goes down with it. And as he tumbles through the open air, plunging down into the depths of his own undoing, Bucky can faintly hear Steve calling out his name, screaming for Bucky like he couldn’t bear to live without him. Like he would jump after him if he could string together a single coherent thought long enough to make him do so._
> 
> _But Bucky doesn’t want that. The thought of Steve following after him brings a sharp stab of pain with it, burrowing deep into the marrow of his bones like cancer. Steve has a mission to complete, a regime to topple. And though Bucky tried to see this through to the end, because of his failings, Steve will have to go it alone._
> 
> _It doesn’t take long until Steve and the train are out of sight, and Bucky’s stomach is firmly wedged into his throat as the ground below rapidly closes in on him._
> 
> _He shuts his eyes tightly, and despite the fear rushing through his veins like molten iron, he lets his thoughts center in on something good; focusing as best he can on the one thing that can give him peace in this final moment._
> 
> _“Steve,” he says in the darkness of his mind, as reverently as a prayer. And it is, of sorts. It’s the name he clung to in Azzano when Zola did everything in his power to break him down. It’s the face he imagined on cold nights, keeping him company when he felt so utterly alone, lost and abandoned. It’s who he’s always looked to for strength. His true north. His beginning and his end._
> 
> _“Steve,” he thinks as the snow and ice rush up from the ground to meet him, “My Steve.”_

Bucky awakens with a breathless gasp. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a hammer beating an anvil, and his throat and lungs are burning from the scream still lodged in his trachea that never did get the chance to escape.

He’s not sitting bolt upright, drenched in sweat like he’s seen nightmares of this caliber play out on the big screen. But the nightmare still leaves him feeling disoriented, which often makes him anxious enough to want to claw at his own skin; desperate for something, anything to ground him to reality. Even pain, it seems. 

Especially pain.

Though, Bucky’s been getting better at finding different, gentler avenues to reach the same goal. With the help of his therapist–and of course, Steve–it’s been ninety days since his last episode, and Bucky–despite the intrusive thoughts that say otherwise–couldn’t be prouder of himself for achieving a milestone like that, when in the past, self-inflicted pain was the first thing he turned to when things become unfamiliar and laden with stress. 

The dream clings to the edges of his subconscious, as they often do, and it makes his skin feel a little too tight, drawing forth that restless, crawling itch that burrows down into his bones. It’s a lovely parting gift from the mixture of adrenaline and the medication he takes to regulate his circadian rhythm that’s fucked to hell from his countless years of using cryo as a replacement for actual sleep.

And though it does help, it sometimes leaves him in a fog that takes hours to dissipate, even with his accelerated metabolism working double-time now that he’s eating three meals a day and getting adequate amounts of rest that he wasn’t before.

Bucky’s grateful for it, of how Bruce and Shuri worked night and day to craft the medication he takes four times a day to manage his wide array of mental and physical issues, but still, even with the mood stabilizers and sleep regulators, antidepressants, and benzodiazepines, these dreams–memories, really–still get to him.

And as his heart pounds in his chest and the dream finally fades from his mind, Bucky has to remind himself that he’s not actually lying half-dead in that snowy ravine in the Alps, waiting for help that never comes. The heavy rain pinging off the bedroom windows and the steady whirring of the ceiling fan above him tell him that he’s home, safe and sound in the space he and Steve carved out for themselves after enduring a century of pain, suffering, and separation.

Bucky’s finally where he wants to be, lying on his back in the bed he shares with Steve–the absolute love of his life, and just recently, his legally wedded husband. 

The white sheets are dampened with sweat in some places, kicked off to rest in a rumpled pile on the hardwood floor with the rest of the clothes they’d shed during the night. Bucky swallows around the receding lump in his throat, chancing a look to the left where the bed is dipping under the warm weight of a very familiar body. 

Bucky desperately needs to see him. Needs to look upon the peaceful face of his lover and know that everything is going to be okay. 

And Steve is there, as he always is, lying next to Bucky on his left side with his head pillowed on one bulging bicep and an old, flat pillow he refuses to toss out for reasons only Steve knows or understands.

Steve’s face is slackened with sleep, and his shaggy head of long, dirty blond hair is a god awful mess of sweat and tangles, but Bucky can’t help but be thankful for these little moments of serenity they find themselves in every single day; that despite how often the world tore them apart, they’re still here, together. 

They’re both retired, living modestly in a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn that’s close to where they grew up. Steve gave the shield to Sam soon after Thanos was stopped in Wakanda, even got down on one knee to ask for Bucky’s hand in marriage right there on the battlefield; blood still clinging to his mouth and smoke stinking up his hair. 

Bucky was surprised, naturally, because things between them had only recently started veering off in a romantic direction at that point. But Steve had explained that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing Bucky again without telling him how he really felt, that he’d wanted to marry Bucky since he was a sixteen-year-old kid, head over heels for his best guy in the worst way.

However romantic the atmosphere wasn’t at the time Steve had asked, Bucky said yes without a hint of hesitation, and half a year later, they were wed in front of the friends they call family, and all was well in the world.

It’s still dark out–nearly 5 AM, if he’s seeing the clock on the nightstand correctly–but even if it wasn’t, Bucky doubts he’d be able to see the rising sun when a thick line of storm clouds are rolling in from the east.

And as the thunder rumbles off in the distance, shaking the building a little with all its ferocious might, Bucky turns on his side and burrows into the comforting warmth of Steve’s body; chasing away the cold the dream left behind.

Strong arms encircle Bucky’s back as soon as he’s settled against Steve’s chest, and a happy little grumble sounds against Bucky’s ear as Steve snuggles closer.

“Hey there, beautiful,” Steve rasps in that deep, sleep-heavy voice that Bucky loves so much. He’s peering down at the top of Bucky’s head, one big bear paw of a hand rubbing circles at the base of Bucky’s spine.

“Hi,” Bucky says in return, tilting his head back to meet Steve’s sleepy blue eyes with wide, silver-blues of his own. They appear almost cobalt in this lighting, or lack thereof, and Bucky sighs, recalling that, though Steve’s body has undoubtedly changed in a lot of ways, his eyes never will.

“What’chu doin’ awake, Sweetheart?” Steve asks, words still slurring a bit. “Thunder wake you?”

Bucky shakes his head, answering quietly so the stillness of the moment wouldn’t be lost just yet. “No. Wasn’t the storm this time.”

Steve purses his lips, then, catching on to what Bucky deliberately isn’t saying.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not yet,” Bucky murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to Steve’s slightly chapped lips. “I know I’ll have to eventually, but I just wanna lie here with you for a bit longer, if that’s alright.”

“‘Course it is. Take all the time you need, Honey.” 

Steve returns the kiss, understanding that Bucky just needs a bit of time to collect his thoughts first before they dive into that particular ocean full of nightmarish creatures. It’s always difficult for them to rehash the horrors of Bucky’s time with Hydra, but for Bucky, it’s different in ways Steve can’t even comprehend.

If he dips so much as a pinky back into that water, it’s like something within reaches out and pulls him in. He gets unusually quiet and still in those times, as if he’s trapped inside his own head for hours on end, with nothing and no one to keep him company but the horrors he’s committed and the people he’s killed.

It drains him, both mentally and physically, and though Steve knows that internalizing the trauma is worse for Bucky than expressing it, it’s still hell to see him like that, knowing there’s nothing he can do to soothe the pain except hold Bucky close and wait for it to pass. 

That’s just what he does now; holds Bucky in his arms as the storm outside their bedroom window rages on. He combs his fingers through Bucky’s thick hair, presses little kisses to his face and shoulders, and waits.

Eventually, Bucky speaks, disturbing the stillness that had wrapped around them like a silk cocoon. 

“I died,” He softly says, and Steve’s body stiffens against his will, “I was on the train again, reaching out for you,”

He pauses, steadying his voice that’s started to tremble. Steve knows what he’s going to say. That day is burned into his memory just as it is with Bucky’s, so much so that he often has nightmares of it as well. To Steve, it’s his biggest failure. His deepest regret.

Bucky draws in a shallow breath, clinging to Steve as he forces the words out of his mouth. His therapist says it’s cathartic, giving voice to his pain and fear, but sometimes, Bucky tends to disagree on how much good this is doing him and Steve.

“I fell, as I always do,” He continues, and Steve squeezes him tighter as a flash of lightning streaks across the darkened sky, lighting up their little bedroom in shades of bluish-white. 

“But I remember thinking that I should have told you then what was going on with me. I hid so much from you back then, mostly out of fear for myself, but in that moment, when I'm looking at you, and you’re just as scared as I am, I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to tell you that I loved you, that you were always gonna be it for me. I just never got the chance to say it out loud before…” his breath catches in his throat, “before they ripped you away from me.”

Steve swallows, shutting his eyes tightly against the wave of anger and sorrow that seeks to pull him under like a riptide. Hydra is no more. Steve saw to that when he was on run with Sam and Nat, but still, the feeling never really fades. There’ll never be a time when Steve doesn’t react this vehemently to the shit they did to Bucky, and if he could, he’d dig up Hydra’s bones and shatter them into dust with his bare fucking hands, until not even dust remained.

He’d burn this world to ash for Bucky, and Bucky knows it, would do the same for Steve a thousand times over. He meant what he said, all those years ago. It’s him and Bucky against it all, now and forever.

“I knew,” Steve whispers once he’s managed to get a better handle on himself, “I think I always knew, even if I was too cowardly to act on it then. Seeing you fall, knowing that I’d never get the chance to make it right, it woke me up, Buck. I was never gonna get over you. Didn’t want to either. I would have followed you into death right then if I could’ve, and I did, in a way. Just took me a few days to get there myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, but despite the dark nature of their conversation, he can’t help but smile. The past will always be there to loom over their shoulder, but they choose not to live in it. They’ve gone through hell and high water to get to this moment, and they refuse to let Hydra steal more of their happily ever after if they can help it.

They’re here, together, and though a small piece of Bucky feels he doesn’t quite deserve it, they’ve earned their little slice of heaven on earth. They’ve earned this life, this moment, this love, and it’s the most beautiful thing Bucky’s ever experienced.

“Should’a known you’d come after me, you stubborn bastard,” Bucky says around the small bubble of laughter in his chest. “Never did have any sense.”

“Nothing could keep me from getting to you, Sweetheart.” Steve grins, nuzzling the tip of his nose against Bucky’s, “Not death, or Hydra, or time that fought to keep us apart. Nothing. I may not have saved you then, and for that, I’ll never forgive myself, but you’ve given me the rest of our lives to make up for it. I’m yours, now and forever. Till the end of the line.”

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s mouth, reeling from the aftermath of what he’s just said. Steve saves him every single day, just as Bucky does with him. That’s what they do. They protect each other, save each other, love each other. And they always will. 

As Bucky pulls back, letting the tears he’s always held back fall from his eyes to wet his cheeks, he’s reminded of the first time he said that to Steve. He meant it then, and he means it now.

It’s a vow, one they’d engraved around the rings they wear. It’s a promise, that they'll always be there for each other when the world comes against them, when memories and dreams threaten to undo them. 

“Now and forever, Steve,” he says, and they kiss again; deeper, slower, ”Till the end of the line.”


End file.
